


Blessings

by thearcticfox



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearcticfox/pseuds/thearcticfox
Summary: The Allfather had allowed and graced their friendship with Elliott. They intended to use the chance to the fullest. Their lonely heart began to heal around him, even when it longed for more than it bargained for.They learned to suppress that want. They had to.No one would want their stone heart.





	Blessings

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you see any pronoun errors. Thank you! ~(owo)

Bloodhound had learned to always have trust in the Allfather.

 

The gods willed them to kill, and so they did.

 

The gods willed them to enter the apex games and fight with honor, and so they did.

 

They were a sworn servant to their lords, and in turn they were blessed with life. But the life of a servant was a lonely one. Their family was of the faith, and they found company in each other when they could. But it was not often, not anymore. The Apex Games and their sister’s long hunts often kept them apart. Bloodhound’s heart grew from flesh to steel to stone, always alone in the hunt. But the Allfather graced them with life - they would not dare to ask for more. They had all the Allfather believed them to need.

 

Perhaps sometimes at night, when the mask was off and their raven slept on its perch, they let tears fall, fogged eyes welled with years of being alone.

 

They never expected the Allfather to take pity. They never expected to be blessed with Elliott Witt.

 

The man had struggled beneath them the first time they met, hands desperately reaching for a gun halfway across the floor.

 

He would not stay dead. His body would be taken to the compound and have life breathed back into it, as it had time and before. So was the way of the Games. But the pain was real, as was the fear in his eyes as Bloodhound’s knife hovered above his chest.

 

“You fought with courage,” they spoke quietly. “You should be proud.”

 

Then their blade plunged into his chest, and the man (Mirage, he would later learn) went limp.

 

Bloodhound retrieved the gun and placed it in his hand. They would not let the man die without dignity.

 

——

 

When they met again, it was at Bloodhound’s fourth crowing. Despite their initial interaction, Mirage was among the crowd cheering for them. His team stood beside him, and he cried out loudest of all. There was almost... admiration in his eyes. The gleam of respect.

They were used to being renowned for their skill. They were used to being othered for it. They had no experience with the look on Mirage’s face.

 

At the after party they approached him, leaning over the bar’s counter to get his attention. Mirage grinned, sliding them the newly mixed drink he’d made. They did not drink, but their gloved hand wrapped around the glass, searching for anything to hold.

 

“I have never seen prey cheer for a predator,” they mused. “Why do you applaud me, when it is synonymous with your defeat?”

 

The bartender’s smile wavered but remained.

“It’s a Game. I don’t take it that seriously.”

 

“Your pain was real. Your defeat was real. For a time, you were dead.”

 

“I’m not now. I’m right here, aren’t I? You need to re- r- loosen up.”

 

Bloodhound pondered the drink in their hand. “What is this?”

 

“Tonic water,” Mirage replied. “You don’t drink, right? You’ve been asked in an interview before.”

 

They nodded, pondering the glass. There was no way to drink it as they were, and they would not take off the mask.

 

Silently, they were handed a thin straw.

 

They took it graciously, and slipped it into the cup before putting the other end through the breathing holes of their mask.

It was a bitter drink, but they didn’t mind it. It tasted like the hunt.

 

Mirage began to laugh, and Bloodhound frowned at him beneath the mask.

 

“What is so funny, Mirage?”

 

“Just- seeing you. Looking so ridiculous. No offense, of course, but you’re just so se-serious in media. You using a straw is just funny.”

 

“I am only human.”

 

“I know, I know. But it’s nice to see. You could afford to lighten up. Have a good time! Drinks on me tonight.”

 

“The Allfather has not-“

 

“You do enough for him. The Allfather can’t command you sign your entire life away. You can be a person and do your duty to them.”

 

Bloodhound had never thought of that. They’d always assumed that all their energy, flesh and blood, was owed to the gods. And that was still true. But perhaps the gods would wish for them to be happy, to live, in addition to their glorious hunt.

 

They had nothing to say to that.

 

An empty glass said back across the bar.

 

“You can call me Elliott, by the way.”

He slid them another tonic.

 

Maybe this was a starting place to find a friend. If the gods allowed it.

 

——

 

The third time they met, Bloodhound chose Elliott to be on their squad. Them and Lifeline alone was not enough people, and he stood alone in the crowd, looking at them with a smile.

 

The crowd rushed with whispers and new rumors as Elliott strode to their side. His confidence kept the eyes on them, but Bloodhound almost didn’t mind. Not when Elliott smiled at them like that.

 

——

 

“Do you trust me?” Elliott murmured, hand wrapped around the hilt if Bloodhound’s knife. He spun it in his palm, and the thin moonlight through the window glinted on the blade.

 

“Of course.”

One couldn’t go through life and death in the Games together and not trust the other. Especially not when they teamed up time and again, always choosing the other. They worked well together.

 

Lifeline murmured in her sleep and rolled aside. Bloodhound should be asleep, they knew. But the Allfather had allowed and graced their friendship with Elliott. They intended to use the chance to the fullest. Their lonely heart began to heal around him, even when it longed for more than it bargained for.

They learned to suppress that want. They had to.

 

“Would you tell me what you look like?”

 

Bloodhound stopped their movements, looking up from rustling in their backpack.

 

“What I look like?”

 

“Yeah. I know you don’t want to show your face, and that’s fine. But like... what color is your hair?”

 

They hesitated. They trusted Elliot. Taking off their mask had crossed their mind once upon a time. But not here. Not when they could die, not when the public eye was on them.

 

The mask protected them from fame. Their legacy was not their own, but that of the glory of the Allfather. They were only an instrument.

 

“When we are alone, Elliott,” they murmured, real names slipping, “you may ask me again.”

 

He grinned. The knife was tossed in the air, but before he could catch it, Bloodhound leaned over and snatched it from the air, tucking it back into their sheath.

 

For a moment, their lips hovered just above his ear.

 

From his smile, they knew he heard them whisper “my hair is red.”

 

——

 

Elliott’s couch was comfortable. His lap fit them well, and they noticed just how tall he was like that. They were too, of course, but Elliott surpassed them.

 

The warmth of the takeout in their hands crawled up their spine, and they smiled. It felt so human to be there, holding bad food and laughing with someone they loved-

 

Oh. Elliot was someone they loved.

 

Bloodhound sat their food aside, unable to eat it anyway. Elliott knit his brows, confused.

 

“Hound? What’s up?”

 

“You asked me once what I look like.”

 

Their gloves hands reached for the clasps of the mask, and soon they tugged it over their hand and placed in on the floor. Bloodhound ran a finger through their thick red hair. It fell to their shoulders in amix of loose hair and small braids, framing their ragged face. Once, they were beautiful, they’d been told, but years of the hunt marred their skin. Eyes fogged with blindness and scars, throat lined with proof of blasphemy.

 

Despite it, they smiled. Elliott gasped.

 

“This is me,” Bloodhound said. Without the modulator of the mask, they sounded much smaller. “Please do not be afraid..”

 

“I’m not afraid,” Elliot murmured. Touch brushed their cheek, and they winced away. But it was Elliot. It was Elliot.

 

They gently took his hand and guided it to their face before tugging off their gloves and doing the same, hand tracing the lines and leaks that made Elliott himself.

 

“You’re stunning...” he breathed, hand combing their hair. “C-can you see me?”

 

“No,” they replied, “but I feel you. The Allfather graces me with your friendship.”

 

Quiet for a moment, then a thumb across their lip. They went still, waiting, mind whispering a prayer.

 

Lips touched theirs.

 

They stilled, and Elliott began to move away, but Hound grasped his hair and pulled him back in. Their lips met again, and Hound drank him in, intoxicated with the smell of sandalwood and taste of him.

 

His hands grasped their waist, carefully respectful, and they urged him to be daring, to try more, to explore.

 

The mask was gone, and the coat soon followed, along with Elliot’s own clothes.

 

They were far too in love to wait, and the Allfather smiled on their union. They knew in their heart it was right.

 

Their warm, human, beating heart.

 

Because they were human. They were themselves as well as a servant. They were allowed to live. And as long as they did, they’d be here, hand around Elliott’s throat and his hair brushing their thighs.

 

“I love you,” dripped from their lips, and without hesitation, they heard it back.

 

They spent the night on the couch, and when they woke, Bloodhound knew in their heart that they were home.


End file.
